


Reach out for you (break these walls)

by Paladin-Pile (UserFromPluto)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Coran and Allura are only mentioned sorry, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, KLangst Week 2017 - Freeform, Like seriously he's the best, M/M, Slow Burn, Tenderness, Touch-Starved Keith, Trauma Recovery, face masks and nail polish, major fluff, pure-hearted Lance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-11 00:29:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10450977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UserFromPluto/pseuds/Paladin-Pile
Summary: Keith is trying to make himself smaller, to bury his head deeper in his knees, and Lance’s heart freezes in his chest. Anger dissipating like an exploded firework, Lance lets his hand fall limply to his side, mind blurring with static. When he tries to speak, nothing comes out but a choked noise, so he tries again.“Keith,” he breathes. “Keith I’m not going to hurt you.”(Keith has an abusive past, but with time and care Lance helps him become accustomed to positive touch.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> My piece for klangst week day 3: Hurt/comfort. Inspiried 100% by [THIS AMAZING ART](http://notdeadjack.tumblr.com/post/155489029338/and-then-they-paint-each-others-nails-and-come-up) by @notdeadjack and [THIS PERFECTION](https://paladin-pile.tumblr.com/post/155726947497/nami-illu-klance-heals-my-soul-they-keep-my) by @nami-illu  
> Title from Diana by One Direction
> 
> Many thanks to @tallerknen for being an awesome beta for this story!

_The front pages are your pictures,_  
_They make you look so small,_  
_How could someone not miss you at all?_  
  
  
.................

 

   The realization begins one day, out of the blue.

   Lance knows he is being bratty, but in his defense, so is Keith. It had been a rough day for everyone, and a painful bout of homesickness is shredding Lance’s insides, making his fuse shorter than usual.

   They are all gathered in the common room, the blue and red paladins yet again in an argument. Lance isn’t even sure what it is about this time, but the bickering is familiar--grounding in a sick sort of way--so Lance latches onto it. He makes snappy comments, Keith responding in a flat, emotionless tone that infuriates Lance. The quarrel escalates until Keith snatches away the Altean tablet Lance is holding, finally making the blue-eyed boy snap.

   “Just stop it!” he shouts. In frustration he launches himself across the couch at Keith, hand raised to grab the tablet. He expects Keith to scuffle over the electronic or fight back, but he doesn’t.

   Keith looks shocked when Lance suddenly flies toward him. His eyes widen for a split second before he flinches back violently, throwing his arms over his head. Lance grinds to a halt mere inches away, hand still raised, but Keith doesn't look up. He sits curling into himself, trembling jerkily in a way that is reminiscent of Shiro when he has flashbacks. Keith is trying to make himself smaller, to bury his head deeper in his knees, and Lance’s heart freezes in his chest. Anger dissipating like an exploded firework, Lance lets his hand fall limply to his side, mind blurring with static. When he tries to speak, nothing comes out but a choked noise, so he tries again.

 _“Keith,”_ he breathes. “Keith I’m not going to hurt you.”

   The red paladin starts at the sound of his voice and slowly peeks out of his arm shield. The raw vulnerability in his expression shakes Lance to the core but he says nothing, watching Keith glance around the room. When he notices the others’ eyes on him, he uncurls himself quickly and jumps up. His face returns to an indifferent mask, eyebrows furrowed in irritation, until Pidge diverts his attention.

   “Keith?” she asks curiously. “Did you really think Lance was going to hit you?” Keith huffs out a mocking laugh and rolls his eyes.

   “‘Course not. He comes flying at me, mad as hell with his hand raised. I thought he was going to kiss me,” he says sarcastically.

   Lance hides a blush hoping no one will notice, but Hunk’s raised eyebrow says otherwise. Keith says nothing more, avoiding Lance’s gaze as he drops the tablet on the couch and stalks out of the room, leaving a heavy silence behind.

   Lance stares at the empty spot on the couch, mind racing. Keith’s first reaction to a threat was always to reach for his knife or bayard, or put up his fists when those weren’t available, not...whatever that was. Lance isn’t stupid. He knows where instincts like that come from, but doesn't want to believe that such a thing happened to Keith.

   Lance rubs the back of his head and looks around to see his teammates in various stages of thoughtful, puzzled expressions. They don’t seem to have come to the same conclusion Lance has, and since the only one who looks actually troubled is Shiro, Lance turns to him for answers. Not comfortable with the others hearing what he means to ask, he shuffles over and sits next to the older boy, waiting until the others go back to what they were doing before glancing up at him. He can only meet Shiro’s grey eyes for a second before dropping his gaze to his lap.

   “Shiro?” he murmurs quietly, timidly picking at his jacket sleeve. “There’s no good way to ask this but, was Keith ever... _abused_ as a kid?”

   Shiro drags his hands over his face and sighs, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. His eyes grow distant, and for a moment he stares at the floor in silence. When he finally speaks, his voice is soft and defeated.

   “Yeah.”

...............

 

  
   When Lance was eight, his uncle adopted a dog from a nearby shelter. They named her Dipper, since she was all white with black paws and snout, like she had dipped them in ink. Lance and his siblings fell in love with her immediately, but it soon became clear that Dipper did not love them back. She would cower and whimper when someone tried to pet her, and even snapped at them a few times when startled.

   One day Lance’s uncle sat them down and explained to them the meaning of a new word: _abuse._ He explained how Dipper had been beaten and starved for things beyond her control, and how she no longer trusted humans. Lance had sat on his uncle’s worn couch and stared at the little dog. He couldn’t understand how someone could hurt something so small and innocent, something they were supposed to take care of, and who never did anything to them. It weighed on his heart then, and it weighs on his heart now.

   As a family, they had helped Dipper by doing all they could to make her feel safe, to not push, force, or make her feel trapped, to give her a reason to trust them. Slowly, they had introduced touches that were gentle and comforting to show that it could be a positive thing. It was a long journey, but ultimately it had worked.

   Smiling into the darkness of his bedroom, Lance recalls the last time he saw Dipper, just a few days before leaving for the Garrison. She had jumped in his lap, yipping happily and licking his face, tail moving wildly as he scratched behind her ears.

   Lance sighs and rolls over, staring at the ceiling with his hands behind his head. He is wide awake, though the glowing clock on the wall says he should have been asleep hours ago. The castle’s dim night-lighting is supposed to be soothing, but the image of Keith curled into himself is still vivid in Lance’s mind and he grips his hair, breathing deeply.

   They had learned how to help Dipper. Would the same technique work for humans? There might be technical differences, but the main ideas were surely the same.

   Lance remembers he had been upset when Dipper did not improve right away. He loved her and wanted her to be happy, but she was still scared months later and Lance felt helpless. His uncle had pulled him aside gently and given him advice in dealing with these kinds of situations, words that echoed in Lance’s mind now.

_“Be patient, Sonny. Don’t try to fix them. Don’t expect them to change or meet a certain criteria, because everyone is different. Even if you never see a change, at least YOU were the one to show them love.”_

   Lance’s mind drifts back to Keith and he sighs again, turning to face the wall.

   “I’ll try, Uncle Nino,” he whispers. “I promise.”

  
...............

 

   The incident passes, they move on with life, and Lance’s homesickness gets worse every day. He does a pretty good job of ignoring it, but sometimes it’s just too hard.

   Like now, as he sits on the floor of one of the castle storage rooms, surrounded by ancient Altean beauty products and swamped with memories of his family. He could almost hear his siblings’ voices as they all piled together, braiding each other’s hair and pampering everyone with whatever products they had that week. Face masks were the most popular, and Lance fondly recalled nights spent with whispered conversations and sticky fingers, cucumber slices flying across the room.

   Lance loved to pamper his family and be pampered in return, and it was a tradition in his family that no one dared break. Even if one member was away, they would call or skype with the computer sitting among the nail polish bottles.

   Lance purses his lips and blinks rapidly, trying to get a handle on his wavering emotions. Pulling his hands into his lap, he rubs his fingers together absently, not sure whether he should give in to the desire to reminisce about his family, or shove the memories away where they couldn’t hurt him.

   “Lance?”

   A voice coming from the doorway startles him and he jumps, knocking over a small bottle with a bang. Thankfully, it doesn’t break and Lance rights it before looking at the intruder.

   “Hey Keith,” he mumbles half-heartedly, not in the mood to talk to anyone.

   “We have a special training session first thing tomorrow morning,” the dark-haired boy says haltingly. “Shiro wanted everyone to know.”

   “Ok...thanks,” Lance replies, turning back to his collection. Keith shuffles his feet awkwardly and doesn't leave, finally breaking the silence again.

   “Um...Is everything ok?”

   Lance looks up with a sniff, forcing a smile he was certain looked terrible.

   “Yeah,” he responds. “Just remembering stuff I used to do with my family.” He doesn’t bother to elaborate, and goes back to fiddling with the products around him. “I just miss it I guess.”

   Keith is silent for a moment, then pushes himself away from the doorframe and walks closer.

   “We can do it,” he says, and Lance looks up, puzzled.

   “Huh?”

   “We can do whatever this...stuff does if it’ll make you feel better,” Keith offers shyly. He picks up a strange-shaped bottle and sniffs it warily, while Lance’s jaw drops open in surprise. That was the last thing he expected Keith to say, and it takes him a few seconds to find his voice.

   “Uh, sure!” Lance stammers. “I can tell you what each thing does and then we can decide which ones to use.” When Keith gives him a confused look, he quickly elaborates. “It’s personal care stuff. You know, like for your hair, skin, face, nails and all that. They’re pretty similar to the stuff on Earth. The bottles look different but I've got this automatic translator from Pidge so I can read the labels.”

   “Wow,” Keith says. “You know how to use all this?”

   Lance grins smugly and winks, a warm bloom of confidence opening in his chest. “Of course, my man. Expert level if I do say so myself. Seriously, I could have worked in a spa. It was kind of a thing in my family to get together every week and do this.”

   “Wow,” Keith says again. Though his face betrays no emotion he doesn't seem uncomfortable, violet eyes studying the spread with interest.

   Lance begins to explain each item and Keith never interrupts him. At first he worries that he will ramble on and bore the other boy but Keith looks genuinely intrigued, sitting cross-legged with his hands in his lap. Once in awhile he asks questions, but for the most part he seems content with just listening. His eyes are guarded but curious, and Lance feels a strange urge in his chest that makes his tone soften and his hands linger on Keith’s as they pass items back and forth.

   “This is a good thing to start with,” Lance says excitedly, holding up a small round container. “It’s called a face mask, and you spread this gooey stuff on your face and let it dry. You’ve probably seen it on me before!” Keith chuckles at the memory and nods.

   “Yeah, what’s it supposed to do?” he asks, and Lance lights up.

   “Oh everything!” he replies. “It cleans your pores, improves hydration, makes your skin soft and smooth, evens out your skin tone-”

   “Ok ok, it’s good!” Keith laughs, shaking his head. “I’ll take your word for it.” His expression is amused, one eyebrow raised at Lance’s enthusiasm, and Lance’s cheeks redden.

   “Good,” he huffs, “‘Cause I’m gonna put it on you.” He opens the container and scoops out the seafoam-green substance with his fingers, scooting towards Keith over the floor until their knees bump. Keith jumps slightly at the contact but says nothing, and Lance waves his hand around, wiggling his eyebrows.

   “Okey-dokey here we go!” he chirps, “Close your eyes.”

   Keith goes stiff and his eyes widen slightly, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. Lance pauses, watching in confusion as Keith fidgets nervously.

   “I...do I have to?” he asks, and Lance raises his eyebrows in surprise.

   “Well no...it’s usually what people do to make sure it doesn’t get in your eyes by accident, but uh...you don’t have to?” His words come out more like a question and Keith shrugs one shoulder, eyes darting anywhere but Lance.

   “I’d rather not.”

   “Okay, that’s fine,” Lance says, more gently now that he senses something is wrong. He doesn’t push--being more than happy to skip the mask if that’s what Keith wants--but the other boy is looking at him expectantly so Lance reaches out again.

   He takes Keith’s chin lightly with one hand and brings the other with its goo-covered fingers up to his face. The two of them are so close that not one of Keith’s reactions, no matter how subtle, escapes Lance’s notice: the way Keith’s eyes track the approaching hand, darting to Lance’s face briefly to gauge his emotion, or the small flinch when Lance’s fingers skim his cheek.

   Lance’s throat closes up and he freezes for a second. He knows from experience that Keith got into fights a lot (his photo in the Garrison directory had been of him sporting a busted lip and a black eye), but the sudden mental image of fists smashing into the pale skin beneath his fingers is nauseating. When was the last time Keith’s sharp jawline and delicately sloping nose were touched with anything other than violence? Were they ever?

   Lance shoves the troubling thoughts aside and returns his attention to the task at hand. Keith has a light blush on his cheekbones and the tips of his ears from Lance’s unmoving stare, and Lance feels a flush of embarrassment.

   “This stuff smells funny, doesn't it?” he comments, a little louder than necessary, clearing his throat and beginning to spread the concoction over Keith’s face.

   “Yeah,” Keith agrees, careful not to move too much per Lance’s instruction. His eyes are still focused on Lance but his expression gives nothing away. The blue-eyed boy begins to talk about everything and nothing--light, meaningless chatter that fills the spaces between them. He hopes Keith doesn't notice his occasionally shaking hands or strained voice, and if he does, he will chalk it up to Lance’s homesickness.

   The thing is, Lance knows Keith isn’t big on physical touch. He allows the occasional hand on a shoulder (as long as he knows it’s coming), or the clasp of a supporting hand or arm when needed during battle, but nothing else. The line they are treading now, a new, tentative brand of closeness, feels like a milestone somehow.

   It’s a fragile thing, and Lance can feel it wavering on brittle legs between them. A single breath could make it crash and burn, but it doesn’t. Keith is smiling, and Lance feels better than he has in a long time.

 

..............

 

    Lance groans in exhaustion as he rubs a towel over his head. After a long, grueling mission the team had gone straight to the communal locker rooms, too desperate for showers to bother making the trek to their own rooms. As usual, Lance was the last one to finish, letting the warm water soothe his aching muscles as long as possible.

   Standing in front of the mirror in a pair of blue shorts, Lance absent-mindedly dries his hair, closing his eyes and letting his mind wander. When something grazes his bare back he yelps, arms flailing to catch the towel before it hits the floor. Lifting his gaze back up, he spots Keith in the mirror, standing right behind him. He isn’t looking at Lance’s face, but down to where his finger is tracing some sort of pattern on Lance’s back.

   “Dude, what...what are you doing?” Lance asks, bewildered, voice sounding more tired than he remembers being. Keith doesn't look up, just keeps tracing, and Lance is too gobsmacked to do anything but stand there. Finally Keith answers with a statement of his own, as if he never heard Lance’s question.

   “You have scars.”

   Lance furrows his brow for a moment, then remembers.

   “Oh yeah,” he says, dragging a hand down his face. “Those are probably from the crystal explosion back on Arus.” He doesn’t feel the need to elaborate, and there is a beat of silence before Keith speaks again.

   “I don’t like them.”

   Lance huffs in irritation and shoves his towel in the laundry chute.

   “Well I’m sorry I can’t maintain my body to your aesthetic standards,” he snaps, and Keith scowles, nose wrinkling as he makes a noise of frustration.

   “No, it’s not…” he stops, then starts again. “They mean you got hurt. And I don’t want you to be hurt.”

   Lance’s gaze snaps back to Keith’s face in the mirror. Keith’s eyes never leave Lance’s back, but his warm hand falls away and Lance finds himself _missing_ it. He opens his mouth but nothing comes out, his brain in a similar blank state. He doesn’t know how to react so he doesn't, just stares at Keith’s reflection.

   Keith’s hair is wild and mostly dry. There’s a wet towel hanging around his neck, and he looks as tired as Lance feels. He doesn't seem to expect a response, leaving Lance to wonder if he had been talking to himself more than to him. The dark-haired boy sighs quietly, still not meeting Lance’s gaze, and without a word turns around and walks away. Lance’s eyes widen when he sees Keith’s back in the mirror, and he turns quickly to face the real thing.

   “Hey,” he says, voice echoing in the room, and Keith steps falter. When he dosen’t turn around, Lance takes a step closer and reaches out, intending to touch before changing his mind and leaving his hand suspended in the space between them.

   “You have scars too,” he comments, though that isn’t what had caught his attention. On top of the scars there are bruises, mottled purples and blues that fade to yellow on some of the older ones.

   “What are these bruises from?” Lance asks quietly.

   “Training,” Keith says after a beat, still facing away from him. “Some from this last battle, maybe.” He shifts on his feet uncomfortably, as if itching to run out the door, and Lance bites his lip, turning to rifle through his bag before he can lose his nerve.

   “Coran gave me some kind of salve that’s really good for bruises,” he says, consciously lightening his tone. “It’s worked on me, you wanna try it?” When he straightens up, Keith has turned toward him, eyes flitting between Lance’s face and the tube in his outstretched hand.

   “Sure,” Keith says finally. “But I don’t think I can reach them all.” He twists around to try and see his own back, but Lance grabs his arm and pulls him to the flat bench in the middle of the room.

   “Sit,” he says. “I’ll do it.”

   Keith goes without a fight, settling down with a leg on either side of the bench, and Lance sits behind him, straddling the narrow seat and scooting forward toward the other boy. Lance’s bare knees brush Keith’s sweatpants and the firm muscle of his thighs underneath, and Lance pretends he doesn't feel electricity at the contact. Keith is looking over his shoulder, watching him out of the corner of his eye, and Lance can see the tension clearly in his back.

   Wanting this to be over as soon as possible, Lance uncaps the ointment and pours it on his palm. He rubs it in his hands to get the chill out, making slick sounds echo in the room. He can hear Keith’s breathing and water dripping from a distant showerhead, but the silence doesn’t feel like it needs to be broken, so Lance exhales deeply and lays his palms on Keith’s back, spreading the ointment over the worst bruises first.

   As the seconds pass Lance finds himself transfixed at the contrast of Keith’s pale skin against his own darker hands. His fingers find a path over the swirling nebula of bruises, white scars flecking its galaxy like a sadistic piece of art. Keith’s skin is warm and damp, and as Lance’s hands move the red paladin relaxes, hunching over until his head hangs low, back arched in a long curve.

   Lance glides his hands in sync up the length of Keith’s back, thumbs skimming over the knobs of his spine. He wonders what it would be like to put his arms around the red paladin’s waist and rest his forehead in between his shoulderblades, if it would do more harm than good. He sighs, tracing the outline of a particularly dark bruise with his fingertip. The ointment has long since been applied, and if it wasn't for the fact that Keith hasn’t fallen over, Lance would have assumed he was asleep. The dark blemish under his touch screams of pain, and before the lanky boy can second-guess himself, he leans down and presses a light kiss to it.

   Keith freezes, but Lance pulls away before he can react any more, gathering his things and standing in one fluid motion. Now he _wants_ to break the silence, to stave off the weight in the air, but he has no idea what to say. His heart pounds wildly, and out of the corner of his eye he sees Keith still seated, fiddling with his hands.

   “Thanks Lance,” Keith says softly, almost in a whisper, and Lance nods awkwardly before ducking out of the room, leaving the tube of ointment behind.

 

.............

 

   Of all the training exercises, the mind meld is easily Lance’s favorite. No running or shouting or getting banged up by robots, just sitting in a circle with his friends and sharing memories of their lives, both good and bad. It brings them closer in a way nothing else could, and they spend this time laughing and crying along with each other’s stories, learning about the pasts that have made each person who they are.

   It’s an emotional rollercoaster to be sure. The scenes in their minds flash quickly by in movements of color and sound with only a few clues on who they come from: Someone repairing the family car for their grandparents (Lance recognizes the yard as Hunk’s), someone being tossed in the air by Commander Holt (that must be Pidge), a small hand sadly placing a flower by a pet’s grave (he only knew it was Shiro because someone said his name in the memory). Lance tosses in a memory of his own, waving to his dad as he leaves for another business trip, little siblings hanging off of his arms. He sees little dusty fingers drawing spaceships in the dirt, but before he can figure out who it is (Keith or Pidge?), it disappears and another scene takes its place.

   It is from the point of view of a small child, a rough hand grabbing their thin wrist and pulling hard. There is a tiny, heartbreaking cry as the image blurs with movement, stopping abruptly when the child is flung into a wall. There is the sound of a door slamming, and small, panting breaths as the figure cradles a bruised wrist. It all happens in a matter of seconds, and when it’s over they all sit, stunned.

   “Who was that?” Hunk asks quietly, but Lance is already looking at Keith. The red paladin’s fists are clenched in his lap and he is struggling to maintain his composure. Silent glances pass between the other paladins, but Shiro is the one to speak first.

   “Keith-”

   Before he can get the words out Keith jolts to life, apparatus still on his head as he clambers to his feet.

   “Keith, please don’t leave,” Shiro is saying calmly. “The whole purpose of this is to be able to open up to-”

   Keith clutches his head and another scene flashes before their eyes. A large hand is around the same child’s throat, forcing them down, while cries are muffled by another hand clamped over the child's face.

   Pidge gasps sharply, hands flying to her mouth, and Lance is reeling. Keith rips off the headpiece like it had burned him, looking at Pidge with a horrified expression on his face.

   “I’m sorry,” he says brokenly. “I didn’t want…”

   Pain fills his eyes as he tears them away from the green paladin and stumbles toward the door. Lance is on his feet in a second and rushes to follow him.

   “Wait!” he pleads. He reaches out to grab Keith’s arm, but only manages to graze the red-and-white sleeve before Keith snatches the limb away.

   “Don’t touch me!” he snarls, body coiling like a snake ready to strike.

   “Keith, please. Don’t run away from us,” Lance reasons, even though his gut tells him the dark-haired boy is already gone.

   Keith’s eyes are blank, not really seeing him, and Lance feels like he’s a million miles away. He watches as Keith disappears through the doorway, and lets his hand fall before turning back to the rest of his team.

   Pidge is trying to be strong but there are tears glistening in her eyes. Hunk rubs her back gently while Shiro sits in silence, head in his hands. Slowly Lance walks over and kneels next to Shiro, wrapping his arms around him. He’s not sure if it’s more for Shiro’s comfort or his own, but the black paladin latches onto him, running a trembling hand through light brown hair.

   “You can’t protect everyone,” Shiro whispers. “You can’t, you just can't.”

   It’s a broken mantra, but Lance doesn’t call him out on it. He lets Shiro squeeze him and stares at the grey wall of the training room.

 

..............

 

   It’s not even a mission. Just a routine stop at some backwater planet to restock on supplies. They were _supposed_ to spend a nice, relaxing couple hours in a random space bar and get back on the ship. Simple, easy, boring.

   Keith gets into a fight.

   Lance sees Hunk’s wide-eyed look before he hears the commotion, and turns around just in time to see the front of the room descend into a frenzy of chairs and fists.

   Keith leaps over a table in a motion so fluid it’s breathtaking, and when Lance finally manages to grab his wrist and pull him away, he feels Keith’s pulse hammering like the beat of a war drum against his palm. Apparently the locals were rooting for Keith, cheering wildly as his opponents slink out of the building in defeat. Several creatures gather around, patting the red paladin on the back and asking questions, but Lance couldn’t care less.

   Keith’s eyes are on fire, blood dripping from his nose and smeared across his lips and chin. He looks like he was born for this, to be painted with crimson like a canvas awaiting the stroke of a master painter, and Lance feels sick. He drags Keith out of the building, never letting go of his wrist.

   When they get back to the castle, Lance sits Keith down on the edge of the tiled bathtub and cleans his face. As Lance works Keith remains stoic, chest rising and falling steadily as he studies Lance’s own face with a tired gaze.

   The water in the bowl slowly turns pink, as do Lance’s cheeks. He wonders what Keith is thinking.

 

..............

  
   To Lance’s utter shock, the face masks become a routine for them.

   The next time Lance finds himself missing home and wandering to the supply room, Keith shows up. Maybe the red paladin has a sixth sense about these things, or maybe he just enjoyed it the last time, but at any rate here they are, hair tied up and face masks drying on their skin. They move on to nail polish while they wait; Keith predictably choosing red, while Lance rebels and chooses gold. Lance describes the basic techniques as he expertly paints Keith’s nails, and when they are reasonably dry, Lance grins mischievously.

   “Ok my turn!” he chirps. Keith has his back against the wall, one leg tucked under the other which is stretched out in front of him. When Lance shuffles over and casually sprawls himself in Keith’s lap, the other boy jumps like a startled cat, staring down at him with bewildered eyes.

   “‘C’mon Keeeth,” Lance whines when the other boy remains frozen. “I painted your nails, now you have to do mine!”

   “O-Okay,” Keith stammers, and Lance wiggles a bit to get more comfortable. Keith carefully picks up the polish and brush, every movement deliberate, and Lance prepares himself to be here for a while. He sighs contentedly and closes his eyes, letting his head loll around on Keith’s leg.

   “It’s nice to be able to just relax, huh?” he murmurs.

   “Mhm,” Keith hums absently, not breaking his concentration as he carefully brushes the color onto Lance’s pinky nail. Lance opens his eyes to see Keith’s laser-focused expression above him, eyebrows furrowed and the tip of his tongue just peeking out of his lips. He snickers at the picture and Keith scowls, still not looking away from his task. “What?”

   “Dude, you’re so focused it’s funny. We’re just painting nails, not doing surgery.”

   “I want to do it right!” Keith grumbles, and Lance smiles, a soft laugh escaping his lips.

   “Alright, alright,” he concedes. “You’re doing great.”

   A comfortable silence falls over them and Lance relaxes even more. Lying on Keith’s lap is pretty comfortable, not to mention a great way to causally show Keith that Lance trusts him.

   He closes his eyes and listens to the tiny clicks whenever Keith dips the brush back in the bottle. He had picked up the technique disgustingly quickly, but then again, it was Keith--the golden boy who would ace anything he touched. Lance’s mind wanders to an earlier time when they were both students, being compared and pitted against one another. It feels like a lifetime ago.

   “Back at the Garrison,” he says, speaking up abruptly. “I started that whole rivalry thing because I admired you.”

   Keith’s movements pause for a second, but he resumes without saying anything. Lance sighs and stares at the ceiling, willing himself to admit what he had kept hidden so long due to pride.

   “You were always so good at everything without even trying,” he mutters. “It made me...made me feel like a joke.”

   Keith still doesn’t reply and Lance doesn’t want to see his reaction, so he turns his head away. His cheek is now squished on Keith’s knee, and he counts fifteen diamond tiles on the floor before Keith’s voice interrupts him.

   “I admired you too. Still do,” Keith says lowly. “You’re everything I’m not.”

   That does not make the least bit of sense in Lance’s mind so he whips his head around, squinting aggressively. The other boy won’t look him in the eye.

   “That’s...that doesn’t even make sense!” Lance gripes. “Why would someone as talented as _you_ ever want to be like _me_.”

   Keith gives him a look that says that was definitely not what he meant, and Lance frowns, bewildered. He knows for a fact there is nothing anyone could see in him worth wanting. He isn’t skilled like the others, just plain old, incompetent, seventh-wheel Lance McClain.

   A swipe of paint lands on his cheek and he yelps, scowling at Keith who is waving the nail brush emphatically.

   “Stop thinking! Don’t sell yourself short,” he orders, and Lance blinks. A piece of Keith’s hair slips from behind his ear and grazes his face, but his concentration never breaks as he maneuvers Lance’s fingers in his own. The blue-eyed boy bites his lip and ponders Keith’s words, wondering not for the first time who is helping who.

 

................

 

   One evening, for some reason, Lance feels extra happy. He walks with a spring in his step and a smile on his face, ambling through the castle while singing a sappy love song in Spanish. He used to complain when his mom sang this very song, but now he loves it because it reminds him of her.  

   When he finds Keith in a hallway he swoops the boy off his feet princess-style, settling on the ground cross-legged with Keith in his lap. He can feel Keith’s tense surprise, but nothing can ruin Lance’s mood now, so instead of letting go, Lance starts rocking him. At this, Keith’s body starts to relax, and Lance continues to sing with his eyes closed and a wide, contented smile on his face.

   It’s bizarre behavior, even for him, but Keith is strangely silent and doesn't protest, so Lance doesn't stop. When the minutes flow by and still there is no interruption from the boy in his arms, Lance becomes curious about his reaction.

   He looks down, and instantly his heart sinks because Keith is _crying_. Silent tears are streaming down his face and his eyes are screwed tightly shut, body quaking slightly with each barely-there sob. Lance immediately bursts into whispered reassurances, pulling Keith up to rest his head on his shoulder. Lance’s eyes burn as he tries to completely engulf the other boy in his arms, and Keith gasps wetly and clutches Lance’s shirt.

   “Again,” he pleads, and Lance doesn't ask questions, just sings and rocks until his voice is gone and Hunk’s warm arms are there to carry Keith to bed.

  
...............

 

   A few weeks later, Lance is walking back to his room after a late night snack when a sound catches his attention. Curious, he pinpoints the source and follows it, surprised when he finds himself at Keith’s bedroom door. He leans closer, blue robe swishing forward as he tries to hear what’s going on inside.

   It isn’t long before a strangled cry meets his ears, followed by harsh, panting breaths Lance can hear clearly through the door. His eyes widen, and with brows furrowed in worry, he knocks.

   “Keith?” Lance asks softly. There is a small hitch of breath, but seconds pass with no reply, so Lance tries again. “Keith, are you alright? Can I come in?” There a shuffling noise before something hits the door with a loud thud, startling Lance and making him jump backwards.  

   “No, stay _out!_ ” Keith shouts, followed by another thud that made Lance think Keith had thrown his boots at the door. His voice is so ragged, so desperate, that Lance can barely recognize it. He can’t imagine how bad a nightmare would have to be to bring Keith to this state, and swallows hard as he listens to Keith’s gasps and choking sobs. He sounds terrified and Lance’s heart clenches.

   “Keith…”

   “Go away, I don’t want you here!” Keith snaps, and Lance flinches. His eyes sting and he balls his fists, stepping forward until he is nose-to-nose with the smooth metal door.

   “Ok fine!” he growls, trying to keep his volume down so as not to wake the others. “You want me to leave, I will, but it’s not because I want to! I want to stay here, I want to help ‘cause I care about you and don’t want you to be scared, you moron!” Lance is shaking with anger and his voice is cracking in a way he knows Keith will notice. Furiously he rubs his eyes with his pajama sleeve and spins on his heel, stalking away and back to his own bedroom.

   At breakfast the next morning Lance takes his usual seat next to Keith. He had greeted everyone upon entering, but Keith was the only one to not respond, glancing at the blue paladin with a guilty expression. Lance tucks into his food goo with as much vigor as he can muster, only to be distracted a moment later by Keith sliding something towards him. It is a small piece of paper, and when Lance turns it over, he is met with two words in Keith’s scratchy handwriting.

_I’m sorry_

   Lance’s expression softens and he glances over at the other boy. Keith has his head down, hair in his face as he picks at his food and avoids Lance’s gaze. Lance grabs a stubby pencil from his jacket pocket and scrawls a reply, adding a smiley face on the end to emphasize no hard feelings.

_You’re forgiven! :)_

   He (discreetly) slides the paper across the space between them, not-so-accidentally bumping Keith’s hand as he does so. Lance watches as Keith picks up the message, relief blooming over the shorter boy’s face as he reads it. When their eyes meet, Lance grins, and Keith’s mouth lifts into a tiny, sincere smile of his own. Somehow, it means more than any conversation they’ve ever had.

 

.................

  
   Lance’s eyes flutter open and he wonders how long he’s been asleep.

   The sunshine is warming his face and he seems to be floating, weightless. He hears voices, garbled and faint as if underwater, and his heart leaps at the thought that _he’s really home._  He’s at Varadero beach, seeing how deep he can dive under the clear water until his mother calls him back. The colors of the sky are rippling peacefully above him, but something is wrong. There are hands clutching him and the ground is cold and there’s _so much pain_.

   Whatever he is lying on rocks with the force of an explosion, shattering the illusion. Lance’s eyes fly open to see fire and smoke. The wavering image of Keith’s face hovers over him, smeared with soot and blood and pure fear. The grip of his hands is too tight and Lance cries out.

 _Gentle please,_  he gasps, and Keith looks pained when he says _I don't know how._ Lance tries to grin and fixes Keith with as much a teasing look as he can manage with a bloody sword sticking out of his stomach.

 _It’s like putting on face masks,_ he says, and Keith’s eyes widen slowly in realization.

   The next touches are so soft Lance nearly melts. The tenderness of Keith’s fingers on his head and his back, lifting and gathering him close, are making his heart sing and ache at the same time.

 _I cradled you in my arms,_ he remembers, and closes his eyes.

 

................

  
   It’s the space-equivalent of three o’clock in the afternoon, and Lance’s face hurts from laughing.

   This is the third time they’ve gotten together for “face time,” as Lance likes to call it, and the conversation somehow took a turn to why Zarkon is such a grump. Theories are flying thick and they’ve only just begun.

   “The coffee-maker broke,” Keith suggests.

   “Or the space-Ikea didn’t give him enough screws to build his ‘Börje Quintessence-Riksdal’ dining set.”

   Keith bursts into laughter and almost knocks over a bottle of moisturizer. Lance beams at the reaction and giggles himself.

   “No, I swear!” he insists. “Somewhere in his headquarters he’s got a three-legged chair that just _pisses him off_ whenever he looks at it. Keeps him going every day.”

   Keith is wiping tears of laughter now. His hair is held away from his face with Hunk’s headband they had ‘borrowed,’ one of the long ends falling over his shoulder. His face is half covered in paste as they sit across from each other, legs tucked underneath them.

   Lance makes grabby hands and Keith obligingly leans in, eyes fluttering closed as he allows Lance to continue spreading the cream. His expression is one of childlike happiness, and he leans slightly into the touch as Lance works. Lance’s heart soars with the hope that maybe Keith has not only grown accustomed to touch, but actually craves it, and he rubs his thumbs along the boy’s cheekbones a little longer than necessary.

   With Keith’s eyes still closed, Lance leans closer with a cunning smirk on his face and whispers:

   “The cat barfed on his control panel.”

   Keith gives a loud snort and dissolves into laughter for the second time, arms bumping Lance’s as he tips his head back, cackling. His expression of open, uninhibited joy is without a doubt the most beautiful thing Lance has ever seen.

 

................

 

   On the eighty-third day Keith shows up at Lance’s door in the middle of the night with a blanket around his shoulders. By the light from the hallway Lance can see Keith trembling, and he pulls him inside. The door slides shut, plunging the room into darkness, and Keith follows Lance to the bed easily. When Lance tugs on his arm, Keith falls into his embrace and talks.

   He talks of abandonment, of places too large and cold for children, of houses with faces and names that were never home. His words fill the inky blackness with beatings and hard floors, of shattering glass and other harsh, cruel things that dance in front of Lance’s eyes in vivid clarity. Keith’s voice wavers and breaks when he talks of pain-filled touches, of wanting nothing more than a single finger laid on him in love. How Shiro had been a beam of gentle light before being cruelly ripped away. How he had learned to fight back, to paint the cruel red color on others, to be faster and stronger.

   Lance wants to scream but he doesn't, just holds Keith and rubs soothing circles on his back. Finally the tale is done, and Keith’s voice falters trying to find words, his warm breath caressing Lance’s chest.

   “I didn’t…” he stammers quietly. “I never...until you.”

   Lance lowers them both to the bed and gathers Keith close. Breathing deeply through his nose, he presses his lips to Keith’s forehead, and leaves them there until they both fall asleep.  

  
..........

  
   Debriefings are always exhausting, at least in Lance’s humble opinion. What better thing to do immediately after a hard battle than to gather in the control room in sticky, sweaty armor and talk about it?

   He blinks rapidly to keep himself awake as the princess rambles on about what went right and what went wrong, until Lance can’t tell the difference between them. He knows what she is saying is important and he appreciates her enthusiasm, but right now he is so tired he barely remembers his name.

   Something brushes against the back of his hand, and Lance looks over to see that Keith has moved closer to his side. The other boy is looking away shyly and a faint blush is staining his cheeks, so Lance reaches out and takes the offered hand, entwining their fingers together. He doesn’t openly look at Keith so as not to draw attention to themselves, but in his peripheral he can see Keith’s expression relax, the tension in his shoulders slowly unwinding. Keith is pressed so close to him that their joined hands are hidden between them, away from the eyes of their teammates, and Lance admits he feels much better with Keith’s warmth beside him.

   Lance’s thumb rubs circles into the back of Keith’s hand, and Keith sighs almost soundlessly, tired body leaning more against his own. The voices drone on and the stars glide by outside the windows, but Lance’s world is as small as the hand in his.

  
.................

  
 

 During their fourth “face time,” Keith falls asleep on Lance’s lap.

   Lance had been painting his own nails, sitting criss-cross on the floor, when Keith had tentatively shuffled onto his legs like a shy cat. Lance was surprised at first but didn’t comment, allowing Keith the freedom to get comfortable. They hadn’t been talking much, simply enjoying the easy silence of each other's company, and no sooner had Keith gotten settled than he quickly fell asleep.

   That had been several minutes ago and Lance now finds himself enjoying the warmth of Keith’s body against his. The shorter boy is lying on his stomach over Lance’s crossed legs, head resting on Lance’s thigh and face smushed into the blue paladin’s stomach. His arm is loosely draped around Lance’s hips, legs sprawled out on the floor to Lance’s left. His feet are dangerously close to the open product containers, but Lance isn’t too worried because Keith apparently does not move much while sleeping. He hasn’t so much as twitched since he passed out, and Lance wonders if he usually gets enough sleep.

   Finishing the last nail, he sets aside the closed bottle, leaning back on his hands to watch Keith sleep. He assures himself it isn’t creepy at all--the red paladin just looks insanely cute with his hair sliding over his cheek and soft snores escaping his parted lips. The sight reminds Lance of a kitten, and a small, tender smile grows on his face.

   They are both wearing their color-coded Altean pajamas, something that took ages to convince Keith to do. Lance kept insisting it was ‘part of the spa experience,’ until Keith had rolled his eyes and finally agreed, having to admit they were comfortable once he tried them on. At first the dark-haired boy had picked at them, frowning before admitting to Lance it felt weird to wear something that offered so little protection. The fabric was thin and incredibly soft, and it took a bit of coaxing on Lance’s part for Keith to finally relax.

   It must have paid off because he certainly looks relaxed now. Barefoot and sprawled over Lance, shirt riding up and exposing a rather large strip of pale skin. It is hands down the most vulnerable state Lance has ever seen him in.

   Keith’s face is slack and utterly peaceful, and Lance reaches over to brush Keith’s dark hair away from his eyes. There is a small scar along his hairline, and Lance thumbs it softly, breath catching as the sheer weight of what was happening hits him like a ton of bricks.

   Keith had willingly come to him. He had put himself completely at the mercy of another person, at peace with being defenseless and in Lance’s care. The knowledge of what he had been entrusted with, that he is finally holding in his hands Keith’s precious gift of trust…it breaks him.

   The first crack appears in his heart as fat tears begin to roll down his face. His lungs fill with a heavy, liquid sorrow, leaving him choking with the effort to reign in sobs that might wake Keith. Drawing in a shuddering breath, he sits forward and moves his right hand to Keith’s hair, hunching over and curling the other around Keith’s back and shoulders.

   Lance loses track of time as he cries silently, tears leaving dark spots where they fall on Keith’s shirt. His lips tremble as the emotional build-up of the last few months bears down on him, but Keith sleeps innocently on, unaware of the turmoil Lance is going through.

   Light footsteps are heard in the corridor, and Lance looks up to see Pidge enter the room. When she notices the two of them she nearly drops what she’s carrying.

   “What’s wrong, Lance? Is Keith alright?” she asks, rushing over to them in panic. Lance shakes his head quickly so as not to worry her.

   “Nothing, he’s ok,” he replies, “It’s alright, he’s just sleeping.” He wipes his face in attempt to clear away the tears, but the rebellious things keep coming. Pidge’s expression softens and she kneels down beside the two boys, putting a hand on Lance’s arm.

   “Wow,” she breathes, and Lance nods, smiling brilliantly through his tears.

   “Yeah,” he chokes out. Pidge rests her head on Lance’s shoulder and they sit in silence for a while, each in their own thoughts. Lance’s tears have slowed by the time she speaks up again.

   ”He’s doing better you know, we all notice it,” she says quietly. “Whatever you’re doing for him...it’s working.”

   “All of us have helped in some way,” Lance whispers.

   “Yeah, but you’re special. You’ve made a difference in ways we couldn’t,” she insists. Lance swallows, running his fingers through Keith’s hair.

   “I love him, Pidge,” he murmurs. “I love him so much.”

   “I know,” she says.

  
.....................

 

   Amidst the craziness of their lives Lance notices subtle changes, over time.

   Keith accepts an arm thrown around his shoulder without flinching; a plate can fall without him jumping out of his boots; and he wears his pajamas more often. It’s not as if Lance is keeping track of these instances, or even that he always realizes them, but some things he can’t help but notice.

   One day, Lance hears his name being called and turns to find Keith with a smile on his face. He looks genuinely happy and Lance opens his mouth to ask why, but Keith’s arms are already around him. The hug is quick and warm, fingers digging to Lance’s shirt before releasing, and Keith immediately moves on as if nothing happened. Something like sunshine settles in Lance’s chest and he hums in amusement, shaking his head before returning to work.

   Some time later Lance is lounging on the floor of the common room and enjoying a precious few hours off when he senses a presence behind him. Before he can even move his head, two gloved hands settle on his shoulders and Keith is leaning over him, pressing a feather-light _kiss_ to his cheekbone.

   Lance’s brain short-circuits. He freezes instantly, blushing like mad as his heart wavers between stopping entirely or careening out of his chest. A second later Keith is gone, making a beeline for the nearest exit while Shiro, the traitor, _giggles_ into his drink.

   “If it makes you feel any better, he was just as red,” he says, and Lance groans, dropping his burning face into his knees.

 

..............

 

   Blue’s feet kick up dust as they hit the ground, and a breathless laugh explodes from Lance’s lungs. Leaping out of his chair, he throws himself out of the cockpit and through Blue’s open mouth.

   “We did it! Yeeeah!” he hollers, letting out a whoop of triumph before victory-dancing down the ramp. In his excitement he trips on the last step, flopping down like a starfish in the coral-colored grass.

   Too happy to be bothered, he rolls onto his back and breathes in the fresh air of the newly-freed planet, wide smile never leaving his face. Puffy white clouds float by far above him, and he hears the chatter of his teammates as they get out of their own lions. Too jittery from the rush of adrenaline to sit still, Lance hops up and rushes over to them.

   “Alright! Nice job everyone!” Hunk is saying, and Lance propels himself straight towards Keith. The red paladin is turned slightly away, only noticing Lance swooping in at the last second. There is no flinch, only a broad, crooked smile that Lance catches a glimpse of before clamping the boy in a bear hug.

   Keith’s arms come up to wrap around his back, low laughter vibrating through both of them. Their bulky chestplates are making things difficult, so Lance pulls away and removes his, tossing it aside. Keith hums in agreement and does the same, glad to be rid of the extra weight.

   The rest of their armor is much less intrusive, so they leave it on, and Lance grins sharply before hauling Keith into another hug. Keith laughs again, and when they separate Lance realizes they are more or less alone, the others having meandered farther away to strike up conversation with the locals.

   “Quite the fight you put up there,” Keith says, grabbing his attention, and Lance hums happily, plopping down on the long grass and sprawling out on his back.

   “You too,” he says, patting the spot next to him, “Come ‘ere.”

   Keith joins him and Lance closes his eyes, basking in the warm sun and the high of victory. For a moment they lay side by side in silence, enjoying the cool breeze ruffling their hair and making swishing sounds through the grass. When Lance opens his eyes again, he turns his head to see Keith looking at him with a soft expression.

   “What?” Lance asks, amused.

   Keith smiles sweetly before the gleam in his eyes takes a more serious tone. He bites his lip, then looks Lance straight in the eye before speaking.

   “Thank you, Lance.”

   His voice is small and sincere, and Lance has to swallow the lump in his throat. A part of him wants to question--to ask what for--but deep down he already knows. He reaches a hand across the ground between them and finds Keith’s, lacing their fingers together and squeezing. Keith squeezes back, and the gesture fills Lance with a rush of affection.

   Keith is suddenly, inexcusably, too far away, and Lance rolls over as if pulled by a magnet. He ends up draped halfway over Keith’s upper body, bracing his elbows just above broad shoulders, while Keith’s hands settle lightly on his waist.

   For a while they just look at each other with giddy smiles on their faces, until Lance breaks the spell by laughingly rubbing his nose against Keith’s. Keith’s nose scrunches cutely and he blushes, trying to hide his face, but Lance won’t let him. He threads his fingers through Keith’s dark hair and nudges him until their gazes meet again.

   Keith’s eyes are shining with happiness and Lance treasures it. He brings their foreheads together and Keith leans into the touch like a cat, making Lance’s heart ache. Their eyes lock, and Lance has never, ever, wanted something as much as he does this very moment.

   His eyes flicker to Keith’s slightly-parted lips, and slowly, carefully, he leans down. Their breaths mingle and Lance glances back up to Keith’s eyes in an unspoken plea, one that is answered by Keith’s hand moving to the back of his head and pulling him down the last few millimeters.

   Lance melts. A soft sound escapes him at the movement of Keith’s lips against his own, and Keith hums in response. They break apart and come together again, pouring into the kiss emotions that have been a long time coming. Eventually they separate, but Keith’s eyes remain closed, chest rising and falling in small pants. Lance strokes his cheek and waits patiently for those violet eyes to open, and when they do, the lashes are wet.

   “There’ll be more battles,” Keith says, and though Lance isn’t sure if he’s referring to the universe or his own ghosts, he knows the answer.

   “We’ll win those too. Just like we did this one.”  

   “But we can't win them all,” Keith whispers, and Lance grips him tighter.

   “We don’t have to,” he says simply. “Whatever happens we’ll get through it together. Trust me.”

   Keith smiles then, an easy, thoughtful thing as he traces a thumb along Lance’s cheek.

   “I do.”

  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feedback is always appreciated. :)
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @paladin-pile


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